Christmas Morning
by routavaurio
Summary: She used to love Christmases, but with her brother gone, nothing is the same. But winter looks especially beautiful this year despite all the sorrow.


**I don't own Rise of the Guardians. My first language is not English. I like feedback.**

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She wakes up to her own sobs, like she has many other times before this. She doesn't try to sleep again, just dries her tears and slips out of the bed that is too big for her. Before it has felt too small because she has had to share it with her brother. Their family can't afford more space or beds. But now she doesn't have to share any more, and it doesn't feel right. She slips an old hide cloak around her shoulders and walks outside into the crispy morning.

The wooden walls of their small house have been frosted over, white icy flowers of winter curling up and down the old logs. They are beautiful, and they make her feel a little better. There are few people outside at the moment; the whole village feels the anticipation of Christmas. It's today, she realizes. She has almost forgotten. She used to love Christmases, the waiting, the presents, the fact that their parents have saved up enough money to cook an amazing dinner. And just being together, the four of them.

Except this year there would be only three.

She doesn't want to think about it, yet she does.

Because her _idiot_ brother had to... had to...

She sniffs at the thought and doesn't want to finish it.

Jackson is not an idiot, she knows.

Jackson is a hero.

Her hero.

And he's gone.

She stands at their door, and feels the chill of the morning. It's cold, as it should be around this time of the year, but usually Christmas makes the weather feel _nicely_ cold. Just like playing in the snow usually does. But now it's nothing like that.

She sniffs again, her nose starting to redden from the cold. A sudden gust of wind makes her shiver, and she almost goes back inside. But something keeps her there. She doesn't know what.

Usually when she's feeling bad she goes to the lake. She doesn't know why she does it. It doesn't make her feel better. It just reminds her of that awful, awful day when the ice cracked and her brother smiled at her for the last time. But the lake is so beautiful. The ice is filled with the most intricate frost patterns she has ever seen. Her brother has the most magical grave she could imagine. But it's still wrong. Jackson shouldn't have a grave at all. Not ever. Jack was always so full of joy, happiness, so full of _life_ that it shouldn't be snuffed out like that. It was not _fair_.

The breeze ruffles her cloak and she watches more frost appearing onto the bark of the trees around the village. The patterns blossom and start growing quickly, quicker than she has ever seen. She steps closer to the trees. It's strange. It's... like magic. Jack used to talk about magic a lot. She watches the creeping frost with wide eyes, feeling her tears freezing onto her cheeks. It's almost like someone was painting the patterns onto the trees. She can almost feel someone there with her.

"That's very pretty," she says in a weak voice, "I like the ones on the lake too."

There is a moment when the frost stops spreading, a silent question hanging heavy in the air. She smiles sadly.

"It's just in time for Christmas," she continues to herself, "I'm sure Santa Claus will like the decorations too."

She follows the tentative trails that snake around the tree. She blinks back tears. Mother has always said it's not smart to cry outside when it's freezing.

"I might look sad," she says, "But seeing the trees so pretty makes me happier, actually. I've tried to ask papa why things frost. He's tried to explain it, but I don't really get it. I think it's someone painting it."

There is a picture in the frost, almost like a smiling face. She blinks, and it's gone, frosted over into an impossibly fine-lined spiral.

She's being silly, she knows. She's standing at their porch on Christmas morning, talking to thin air and watching winter spread. But what did it matter? Jackson never minded being silly. He embraced silliness, just to make others laugh.

So she wouldn't mind either.

"Can you draw a bird?" she asks, "A pretty little bird that flies on the bark of that tree?"

She gets no answer, but she isn't really expecting one. Frost curls some more, but she's too cold to stay any longer. She returns inside to find her parents waking up, her mother quick to chastise her about going outside with tear-stained face. Mother has been crying in her sleep as well.

Their Christmas is quiet and they eat their dinner in silence. There is too much food. They save the leftovers for tomorrow. She doesn't remember the last time there has been this many leftovers. Mother gives her an extra cookie and she takes it with her when she goes outside for a short walk. The cookies are mother's speciality. She doesn't remember the last time she has eaten so many of them. There are some children outside, playing in the snow and waiting for the night so that morning and presents can come earlier. She doesn't join them. She walks back to the trees she has watched in the morning, and the cookie stops halfway towards her open mouth.

There is a small frost bird on the bark of the tree she has pointed at in the morning. She stares at it, and then she smiles. When she looks at the bird again, she sees other shapes as well. The frost coats the trees in an abstract webbing with thousands of little things weaved into it.

"It's so pretty," she whispers to empty air, "Thank you! And Merry Christmas!"

She doesn't really think when she leaves the cookie into the snow by the tree. She knows it's silly, and a waste of food. But frost has given her a present. She might as well return the favour.

She goes back inside, where it's too quiet and too still and too mournful. Mother comments how the winter is especially beautiful this Christmas. She agrees.

The next morning she busies herself with the presents that have appeared during the night. She doesn't think about the frost bird or the cookie; she has all but forgotten them.

The cookie has disappeared from the snow during the night.

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**Author's Note: Hum... I didn't really mean to write so many stories on RotG. I mean, I like the film and I love the books but still... But this is again one of those ideas that just popped into my head and I just wrote it even though I was really tired and I'm still sick.**

**I was listening to my favourite Christmas song when wrote this and the whole thing is kind of heavily based on the song. The song is called "Varpunen jouluaamuna" (Sparrow in the Christmas Morning) and it's about a young girl seeing a starving little sparrow and giving it a seed. Then the sparrow apparently starts talking and thanks the girl and then casually mentions that it's not really a normal bird but the ghost(?) of the girl's dead brother. All good Christmas songs are about death. Because that's what Christmas is all about, right? Us Finns are cheerful people like that. Smiley!**


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